


Apples and Oranges

by DarkMK



Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant
Genre: Definitely Unhappy, Gen, Gwyn Feels, References to Abuse, Sort Of, Young!Gwyn, all the feels really, tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMK/pseuds/DarkMK
Summary: When a young Gwyn ap Nudd is sent to find a thief, he doesn't expect to find a pair of young waterhorses. And though he's never before had someone he could call a friend, he can't help but hope that maybe, possibly, he'll see them again one day?





	Apples and Oranges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_poignant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/gifts).



> Hello, everyone! This is based on a scene from the beginning of [Chapter 39](https://archiveofourown.org/works/915296/chapters/2363349) of Game Theory, where Augus remembers a moment from his and Gwyn's past. I've had the idea for this for quite a long time, but never really had the chance to write it until now! I hope that you enjoy! (And have a tissue handy.)

Gwyn rubbed his hands together, craving the warmth from the friction. Though he wouldn't get frostbite, no matter how long he spent out in the frigid winter air, even a Court status fae could feel the chill penetrating the skin, given enough time. It was a viciously cold day, in what had already been a brutal winter so far. He had wanted to come out and check on the hounds, make sure that their kennels were warm and secure and that there was no chance of any of them getting sick. They had already lost one of the younger hounds earlier that month. Mother, in one of her rare moods where she almost smiled at Gwyn, had suggested that perhaps he should spend the _entire_ day outside. In the freezing cold.

That was the only way he knew of to give her pleasure. His pain or discomfort.

He wondered, at times, if he shouldn't do it more somehow. If he could withstand more just to make her happy. He shuddered at the idea, but...maybe it would be worth it.

He pushed the thought away.

He startled when Lludd came suddenly around the corner of the kennels. “Father!”

Lludd frowned at him disapprovingly. “I've been looking for you, Gwyn.” He reached down and gripped Gywn's shoulder hard. “The servants have reported that there has been food stolen from one of the storage barns, the one closest to the Ethallas forest. What do you know of it?”

“I – Nothing, Father!” Gwyn stammered. They – Father didn't think _Gwyn_ had stolen it, did he?

Lludd shook him hard. “Don't lie to me!”

“F-Father, I don't – I swear I didn't – ” Gwyn didn't know what to say. He _had_ taken food before, but from the kitchens only, and only when he was very hungry. And he tried never to take anything important, nothing that would be too missed.

Lludd shook him once more, and then pulled back, eyes calculating. “Well, then. Consider this a lesson to improve your ignorance. You are going to take two of the hounds with you, and find out what has taken this food, and you are not going to come back until you have done so. Is that quite understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Gwyn said, swallowing.

Lludd shoved him back against the kennel wall and strode away. Gwyn pushed himself upright carefully, catching his breath. Then he turned and entered the kennels, knowing Father would not want him to delay.

He selected two his favorites, the ones he called Steady and Brown Foot. Gwyn liked giving each hound their own name, even if Father said that forming attachments to the hounds was sentimental and useless.

*

He headed straight for the storage barn, walking around it, seeing if the hounds would catch a scent. It would be hard, scents wouldn't last well in the cold, especially when snow had been falling on a regular basis for the past several weeks. And he didn't know exactly when the food had been stolen, so there was no telling how old the trail might be. Not that Gwyn was any sort of expert. But he did enjoy going through the woods, attempting to track something. The woods were peaceful, welcoming...and somehow, straightforward. It was easier to know the right thing to do.

Stepping inside the barn, he bid the hounds to stay, glad for the brief moment to be out of the wind. He looked around. Nothing seemed obviously out of place, though he hadn't really been in here often enough to know. He walked down one of the rows of shelves and barrels. Rounding a corner near the back, he shivered suddenly, as if there was a chill. But it was too far to have come from the door, even if he hadn't closed it.

He glanced at one of the back windows. Walking closer, he found that it had clearly been forced open at some point, and the glass no longer fit properly in the slots, nor had it been closed properly. Gwyn looked at the food shelves closest to the window. Though again, there was nothing _obviously_ missing, he could see where bits of crumbs had been dropped, and there, dried apple leaves on the floor. He bent down and found the remains of a jar that had been dropped and shattered. This must have been from the thieves; perhaps interrupted and fled in a hurry. His mother, Crielle, was far too fastidious to allow such a mess, even in a back corner of storage like this where no guest was ever likely to go. The servants all knew to meet her exacting standards in every area, or else they quickly found themselves put to 'better use' elsewhere. Aunt Penny was particularly fond of finding ways to make servants 'useful'.

Heading outside again, he brought the hounds under the window, and had them sniff closely at the sill. Steady picked up the scent and barked once. Gwyn bade him follow it, and stayed close behind as they headed into the Ethallas forest.

*

He had been out there for a least a couple of hours, having had to criss-cross and double back a few times when the hounds had lost the scent, when Steady gave another short bark and began to run. Gwyn and Brown Foot chased after him. The thieves must be close.

He rounded a stand of trees and saw the two hounds barking at a shape partially up a tree. No, two shapes. The thieves had managed to get up a few branches off the ground, just out of reach of the hounds, but it was not a good tree for climbing and there was no where else to go.

He froze in surprise. Boys. It was two young boys, just his age, like him. But _woefully_ under-dressed for the cold. They had no jackets, no hats or gloves, and...their hair seemed to have _icicles_ in it. Gwyn frowned. Why would anyone come out in the cold with such wet hair that it could freeze? He squinted, looking closer. And gasped. Not just icicles. But plants. Waterweed! These were waterhorses!

Gywn's heart leapt. He had always wanted to meet a waterhorse. He had read about them in many of his study books. There was one story in particular that had always stood out to him. A story about the viciously beautiful Each Uisge. Though he had never heard of one with red hair, like the smaller boy. It was almost as curly as his own, despite the ice and water weighing it down. He wondered what type of waterhorse he was. And weren't waterhorses solitary? But these two were clearly attached to each other.

Gwyn was jolted from his musings when the hounds barked even louder and the red-haired boy whimpered. The older boy shifted his stance, snarling down at Gwyn almost ferally, even as he pushed the younger boy behind him.

“Steady! Brown Foot! Here!” Gwyn called to the dogs. They came immediately, despite having clearly found their quarry. He rubbed each of them behind the ears, quietly praising them for their obedience. He looked up again at the two boys. They still stared at him warily. Cold and hunger and exhaustion was written clearly in their faces, underneath the fear.

These were clearly the thieves, but... He thought about what Father always said, about doing what was _n_ _ecessary_. And he knew what Father would do to _Gwyn_ if he returned empty-handed. But...the way they hugged each other, the way the older was so protective of the younger...

He bit his lip. He couldn't. He couldn't do it.

He straightened and addressed the hounds.“Come on, let's keep looking for the thieves. They probably went the other way.” He raised his voice louder, making sure the two boys could hear him. “But I hope that they didn't go south down the frozen river. Because then they might have discovered the hidden path leading to the winter orange grove – right where the Old Oak and the walnut tree grow their branches into a perfect arch near the riverbend.” He stroked Brown Foot's head. “And then they might have discovered all the those delicious winter oranges, perfectly ripe and ready for the taking, just waiting there with no one guarding them.” Gwyn's own stomach rumbled at the thought, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He pushed the discomfort away. Though he loved that grove, now wasn't the time. He wasn't sure exactly what made those oranges grow so well in winter's cold, but Mother insisted on being able to set a perfect table, no matter the season, so they had spared no expense on the magic needed for it. Part of the magic made it near impossible to find, unless one already knew where the entrance was. "Yes, those oranges are perfectly safe, wouldn't you agree, Brown Foot?" 

Gwyn patted the dog one last time. He didn't look back at the two boys, instead setting off northward.

*

He wandered the forest for a while, enjoying the way the light filtered through the snow covered branches. He wished there was something _he_ could eat out here. But it was a hard winter, and there was little to be found that was truly edible. His Court status meant he could digest things that weren't quite meant to be eaten, but he didn't really want to test it. He thought about the two waterhorse boys. They must be underfae, likely had been starving. No wonder they had stolen from the An Fnwy estate.

His shoulders hunched, preemptively thinking of the beating that would await him once he arrived home. But at the same time, a small candle of warmth lit inside his chest, thinking of the two boys. It might have been the wrong thing, but...he couldn't regret having done it.

*

It was over a month later when he managed to return to that spot in Ethallas where he'd found the two boys. Between recovering from the beating and all the extra training that Father had assigned (“Because _clearly_ , Gwyn, you need improvement, or you would have found the thief.”), there had been no opportunity to get away. And even now, he couldn't be gone long.

He wasn't entirely sure why he had come back. Just that he...kind of wanted to see that the waterhorses were alright. He had brought a little extra food with him. Not much. Just some burnt cookies that Cook had given to him, since they weren't fit to be served anyway. He had this sort of idea that if he saw the waterhorse boys, he could offer them one. Maybe they were still hungry. There was still another few weeks before spring would start to make itself known. Who knew what food they may have been able to find? Would the oranges have been enough?

He sat down on a rock under the tree, looking around. The area was deserted.

Well, he hadn't expected that anyone would be here waiting, but...maybe they would come by. They couldn't live far, there was no way they would have been able to travel any distance in the winter chill without proper clothing.

Though, maybe waterhorses were more resilient than common fae. The stories he had read were filled with descriptions of the beauty and terror of adult waterhorses, but were a little short on the juvenile biology of them.

Maybe he could ask, if he saw them.

Time passed, and the area around him remained empty.

Gwyn practiced remaining as still as he could, pretending he was one with the forest.

He saw a winter fox slink by.

Was he in the right place? Yes, he definitely remembered the way that birch grew. And that small hawthorn tree.

Maybe he should have brought a hound. He could have tracked them. But, no. He doubted that he would have been able to sneak a hound away, but even if he had, he didn't want the boys to think that Gwyn was still hunting them. He didn't want to scare them.

He stayed as long as he dared, but there was no sign of anyone. He sighed, something in his chest dropping. He'd known not to expect anything, but...still.

It would have been nice to...maybe meet someone that he could get to know.

He trudged back through the snow, slowly chewing each burnt cookie one at a time.

*

He returned again, a few months later, when spring was well underway and there were flowers and new life blossoming everywhere. It was beautiful. He sat down on the rock again, pulling out one of his study scrolls. Maybe they would be more willing to approach if he was clearly looking relaxed. But though he spent a pleasant time, there was no sign of the boys.

*

On the next couple of visits, he ranged around, hoping to find the lake that they lived in. But though he found one or two possible candidates, there was never any evidence of actual waterhorses. And he was nervous of discovering their home anyway, because what if Efnisien followed him, and it gave him two new victims to play with?

*

When winter came again, he left a bit of food at the spot, some dried apples and other things, hoping it would be a peace offering. But the only one who enjoyed it was the winter fox, who Gwyn spotted digging through it as soon as he was a good distance away.

*

By next summer, he knew not to expect anything, but he told himself that he just enjoyed sitting on the rock, and that's why he kept coming back.

*

The summer of next year, he didn't remember much.

He felt he wandered about in a daze for weeks, not seeing anything, and one day ended up on the rock next to the hawthorn tree, staring into space. He couldn't let himself think about why. All he knew was that it was a good thing those waterhorses had never come back (even though he knew that nothing could have ever come of it anyway), because he wasn't allowed to get to know people like that, he _knew_ that, and he was a horrible creature, and he would surely have found a way to be the death of them, too, just like...just like...

But Gwyn couldn't let himself think about that.

*

Gwyn paused by the hawthorn tree. After a few seconds, he pulled a branch closer, looking at the small white flowers on the end of it.

Today was the last day.

He wouldn't be coming back.

He was to permanently move to the barracks, to complete his soldier's training. He would be the youngest by far, by decades or centuries even, but Lludd had insisted that he was ready for the front lines, and that there was no time like the present to do his duty.

Crielle had said that perhaps he would finally find a way to bring honor to the family name.

He knew what they meant.

They expected him to die.

 _Wanted_ him to.

He rubbed a finger over one of the tiny petals. He wondered if the two waterhorse boys had died. He didn't think they'd gotten caught and killed; Gwyn hoped he would have heard the gossip from one of the servants if that had been the case. But perhaps they hadn't been able to survive the remainder of that first winter. Or one of the subsequent ones. Or perhaps they had fallen prey to one of the other dangers of Ethallas. There were several Unseelie fae within its borders that hunted other fae.

Gwyn would never know.

He hoped not. But he had learned long ago of the futility of hope.

He straightened, dropped the branch.

It was no matter.

He had known from the start that he would never see them again. And even if he had, the idea that they would have been...what? _Friends_? Friends were a luxury given to those good enough to deserve them, not to crude _beasts_ like he was. The best he could ever hope for in life would be find a place where he could fulfill his role as expected. People did not _like_ Gwyn. He knew not to expect that.

And that was fine.

He didn't need it.

He turned and walked back through the trees, out of the forest, and didn't look back.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's my little interpretation! Even though it's kind of sad, I like to look forward and think of how Gwyn and Augus will eventually end up over the course of Fae Tales, and that makes it a little bit happier, I think.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!
> 
> (Oh, and if anyone is wondering: the title is not just a reference to the common phrase, but is a metaphor for Gwyn (who eats apples several times throughout Fae Tales, though I could only make vague references to it here) and Augus, who of course eats the winter oranges.)  
> :)


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